


Justice is a Lady

by Ruta



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anger that it isn't anger, Brienne is pregnant, Conversations, F/M, Plans For The Future, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 01:36:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18885451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruta/pseuds/Ruta
Summary: "What did you expect?" She asks again, straightening her back and resting her hands on the arms of the chair. "You know how people think, how easy it is to be prey to cruel whispers. What do you think they would have begin to say when became obvious that she is with child? At best they would have called her a whore and called the child a bastard. Do you really think that I would have allowed it? There will be no more bastards here in the North."Brienne of Tarth was only the first. There will be an edict. Soon, very soon. No children born during the war will be bastards, no orphaned children, no abandoned women. They will no longer know the humiliation of having to depend on a man's cowardice, their selfishness, their vileness.





	Justice is a Lady

**Author's Note:**

> It had to be focused on Brienne, but then got out of hand. I don't know where to put this in the show's timeline.

"What's the meaning of this?"  
  
Sansa puts down the quill and calmly takes the parchment scroll that Jon rudely has thrown on the table already cluttered with papers.  
  
When she opens it to read the content, she recognizes it easily. Her fingers trace the outline of her signature placed at the end together with that of Sam as a witness and of the Maester who sealed the validity of the marriage between Ser Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth. She frowns.  
  
What confuses her is not that Jon discovered this so soon, but his reaction. She had anticipated that he would be surprised and partly bothered for not being informed earlier of her plan, but not this. Not this anger that devours his eyes, making them glisten dark and hostile under furrowed eyebrows.  
  
Not this anger that clenchs his fists and stiffens his body, as if his only desire was to blow off steam with his sword or punch someone. If she was a man he could treat her as Tormund, but she is a woman, so she will only know the bitter treatment of disappointment, of cold silence, of distance.  
  
She doesn't understand what she did to deserve it, but it doesn't matter. What really matters is - "Did you really expect me not to have a backup plan? She's my sworn sword and he left her."  
  
The last words are filled with disgust, contempt. Jaime Lannister has been many things, he has made many mistakes and unseemly actions. The one against Brienne remains the most unforgivable of all in her eyes. _There is no crime worse than one committed against an innocent._  
  
She carefully rolls the parchment and set it aside to return it later to Maester Wolkan. It isn't the only existing copy, but the only one preserved in the Winterfell archives.  
  
"It's a fake," Jon accuses. "It never happened."  
  
"Our signatures seem to prove otherwise," she sternly replies and hopes the warning in her voice is clear. _Don't continue on this road. Stop and nobody will get hurt_.  
  
Obviously, since he is Jon, he doesn't listen to her, in a by now consolidated habit, that however each time hurts as if it was the first. "How did you convince Sam?"  
  
Sansa could mislead, lie. Not this time. Why should she hide after all? Why, when all she did was safeguard the honor of a brave, loyal and good woman? Why when, amidst the destruction and madness of war, among the thousands of lives forever lost, did she manage to protect that of an innocent and unborn child? Why should she apologize when her lie could make that child's life easier?  
  
"Why do you think I had to convince him? Sam is a good man. When I asked for his advice, he just confirmed that my idea was the best solution and offered his help."  
  
Jon closes his eyes and drops into the nearest chair like a dead weight.  
  
She would like to feel compassion for his obvious fatigue, but something inside her, a little vengeful demon, prevents her.  
  
"What did you expect?" She asks again, straightening her back and resting her hands on the arms of the chair. "You know how people think, how easy it is to be prey to cruel whispers. What do you think they would have begin to say when became obvious that she is with child? At best they would have called her a whore and called the child a bastard. Do you really think that I would have allowed it? There will be no more bastards here in the North."

Brienne of Tarth was only the first. There will be an edict. Soon, very soon. No children born during the war will be bastards, no orphaned children, no abandoned women. They will no longer know the humiliation of having to depend on a man's cowardice, their selfishness, their vileness.  
  
Jon now looks at her with admiration and respect, but also with that same inexplicable anger, as if she wronged him.  
  
Sansa doesn't avert her gaze, although the intensity contained in Jon's eyes is somehow blinding, distracting her to the point of making it difficult to remain lucid and even breathe.  
  
"I would have preferred not to resort to such subterfuge," she says, "but only a king has the power to legitimize a bastard. You lost that power when you bent the knee and gave up the crown."  
  
Oh. The blow has the desired effect. She observes the consequences with conflicting feelings. One part would like to address him with harsh words, the other would like to comfort. Treat, don't hurt. Reassure, don't hit.  
  
She would like to trust him with a full heart, but how can she knowing that he doesn't intend to do the same? Why should she open up knowing with absolute certainty that every attempt would be ignored or trampled? Jon doesn't need her, he doesn't want her help. The coldness that now marks their relationship is sufficient proof.  
  
"What about Sam and Gilly?"  
  
Sansa remains silent, waiting for him to explain.  
  
Jon tightens the jaw. "You offered him Dreadfort."  
  
She nods. "I did."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why shouldn't I have?" She asks in return, watching him get up and go back and forth around the room, like a wolf in cage. "I knew that both would have preferred to stay here in the North. Gilly is of the free folk, it's only natural and Sam doesn't want to be Lord of Horn Hill. He never wanted it. I gave them a choice. Sam will retain the title, keeping it for one of his sons. The firstborn will be the heir of -" she doesn't get a chance to finish.  
  
Jon grabs her face and before she can do anything else besides blinking at his sudden closeness, he is kissing her and she - she, _gods help me_ , is kissing him back.  
  
"Why?" She whispers when they stop for a bit and catch their breaths.  
  
He rests his forehead against hers, rubbing his nose against hers in an intimate and affectionate gesture. "You didn't give me a choice," he says and his smile, however small, is full of the many things he wants to say and is telling her, just in his own way. He removes a lock of hair from her face with such explicit tenderness. All she can think of is that it wasn't anger, it was never anger. Her error of judgment has been resounding.  
  
"To love you is so easy. You make it so easy."  
  
Her mind flies quickly, recalling another moment. A study lit by the smoky light of candles. A question that has never been answered.  
  
"I bent the knee for love," Jon says and his fingertips continue to trace the outline of her face, gentle. His heart beats wildly, she can feel it under her palms resting on his chest. "For you."


End file.
